A Fatal Attraction
by doctorpercabeth
Summary: Molly is attracted to the cute guy in her chemistry class, but not everyone is happy with this development. College AU Sherlolly. Rated M for language, as well as the possibilities of psychological abuse and violence
1. Chapter 1

_Hello lovely readers. This is my first fic and I just had to write it down. Please leave reviews, I'd love to hear what you think. I really like this chapter even though it might not seem like a lot, and I have an end goal, but I'm not entirely sure about the middle. Stick with me if you like it!_

_*Disclaimer: I own none of the characters (and possibly not even the title? It was the first thing I thought of and I liked it but it also seems cliche... Sorry). _

The worst part about organic chemistry was that Professor Hughes always ran late. Which wouldn't be an issue, except it meant Molly was always dashing off to her genetics lecture in an attempt to not be late. The two most important classes of her semester just had to be taught back to back.

She sighed heavily as she closed her notebook and shoved it into her bag, trying not to forget her jacket as she dashed out of the classroom. Of course, that meant she ran right into the cute guy sitting next to her.

"Oh god I'm so sorry," she said as she felt her cheeks burn red.

"Don't worry about it," he smiled, all charm, which only made her blush harder. They'd only had a few conversations, but she was way too into him. To her dismay, they began walking in the same direction. "Are you ready for this test?" he asked, the only question anybody in their OChem class was asking, since the tests had been known to make people cry on numerous occasions.

"Not at all. I was too stubborn to drop the class, so I'm stuck here now."

"Well if you need some help, I'll be in the library basement all weekend," he paused. "If you'd like to join me," he added, almost like an afterthought.

"Oh, that'd be great, if you don't mind me slowing you down," she said as she turned into her genetics classroom.

"It's a date," she barely heard him say. Her heart skipped a beat or two. If only he'd been a little less cute, a little less charming, and a lot less intelligent, it wouldn't be so hard to keep from thinking about him as she began to take notes on DNA transcription and translation.

* * *

She peaked her head into the cracked door of the study room in the library basement far earlier Sunday morning than she would have liked.

"Mind if I join?"

"Not at all," he said, barely looking up from the problem he was working on to clear some space for her at the table.

She sat down, spread out her notebooks and textbook and answer guide and syllabus and the multitude of other things one used in attempt to understand the unintelligible. They worked in silence for a while, only occasionally asking each other simple questions.

Around noon, he stood up, announcing that he planned to get lunch. Molly noticed that she was not extended a direct invitation, and decided to stay put for the time being.

He left the room, wrestling with his emotions as he walked to the bagel place a few blocks over. On the one hand, he wanted to invite her to lunch. And dinner. And home to meet his parents. And to their wedding. She was smart and she was funny and the way she acted around him was adorable.

On the other hand, he didn't do relationships. In fact, his one-night stand had still been there when he left that morning. Becky? Monica? Whatever her name was. He couldn't ruin Molly. And he didn't want to take time away from his studies to have a _girlfriend._ The word sounded terrible to him even as he contemplated taking her home to meet his parents. Which, as a matter of fact, also sounded pretty terrible to him. But that smile. And the way she hummed to herself while she did practice problems. It should have been annoying. It _was_ annoying, dammit. He was trying to concentrate!

"Oh, its no use," he muttered to himself as he opened the bagel shop door. He was in love with this girl he sat next to in one class, that he'd only known for a few weeks and only ever talked to in passing. But he couldn't make a move. He'd have to be in love from afar.

"What can I get you?" the teenager at the cash register asked. Sherlock gave him his regular order, then thought for a moment. "Actually, make that two." Bringing her a bagel wasn't making a move. It was a friendly gesture towards someone he was spending the day studying with, since he hadn't even had the decency to ask her to join him. He smiled to himself. Maybe she would be grateful. Maybe she would interpret it as him being interested. If she made the first move, he knew he wouldn't be able to turn her down.

But he should turn her down! He grappled with his emotions all the way back to the library and into the study room, where he was surprised to see her snacking on a bag of grapes and sipping a soda.

"Oh, I um, I brought you a bagel?" he said, more question than statement.

"Oh thank you! You really didn't have to," Molly said, a hint of a blush once more.

"Well I figured you might be hungry, with all this…" he gestured to the table and let his sentence trail off. She accepted his bagel with a smile and they continued to work in silence.

* * *

Dinnertime came and went, both of them too absorbed in their studies to notice that they were hungry. The fact of the test and the idea of imminent failure had settled over them, making thinking about other things impossible. Well, for Molly anyway. Sherlock noticed every little movement Molly made, chastising himself every time.

"I can't make head or tail of unimolecular versus bimolecular substitutions," Molly broke the silence, almost causing him to jump. He must have looked at her blankly, because she continued on, somewhat hurriedly, "Every time I think I have it and then I try a problem and I'm wrong. Can you explain it to me?"

He leaned over with a blank piece of paper and began to explain, almost automatically. He wasn't focused on the words he was saying so much as how easy it would be to lean over and kiss her right there.

Oh god. His life was turning into a chick flick. This is what happened in those movies he sometimes watched when a girl wanted to pretend they weren't just fooling around. But Sherlock found himself unable to stop.

He looked down at the diagram and realized he was running off the page. He leapt up and grabbed one of the dry erase markers from the board that was kept in the study room specifically for moments like these. He started his drawing over and continued his explanation.

Molly felt herself nodding and taking in the words he was saying without processing any of it. Knowing she should stay in her seat and write some of this down, she got up and moved over towards the board.

"Does… does that make sense?" Sherlock asked, unsure of himself due to the huge distraction standing right in front of him.

"Yes, I think I understand it now. Weak bases and, and resonance structures…" she trailed off, aware of how close he was standing and beginning to babble. Her heart was pounding as she finally looked straight into those blue eyes without quickly breaking eye contact as she'd always done before. They were both aware of how alone they were in that moment.

Sherlock leaned in tentatively and kissed her on the lips. She responded timidly but enthusiastically, moving her hands to pull him closer. They stayed that way for a moment until he pressed her against the white board, probably wiping off half of what he had just written but at the moment not caring about anything except how good her lips tasted and how her hands felt and how he could not go any further with her. He didn't dare. She would just turn into another of his one-night stands. Instead he wanted her to be his- his- his something. His mind was racing when the shrill ring of a cell phone broke them apart.

Beet red, Molly quickly picked up the phone without checking the caller ID. "Oh, hi! No, sorry, I'm studying in the library. Can I call you back in just a moment?" She said this almost all at once, and then hung up the phone.

"I, um, I have to go. Thanks for explaining!" she said, unable to meet his eyes as she swept her things haphazardly into her bag and dashed out of the room.

She pressed the most recent call on her phone and waited for her boyfriend to pick up.

"Hi Jim. Sorry, I just didn't want to make a big fuss in the middle of the library. What's up?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello lovely readers. Here's my second chapter, lots of thinking going on here. I've gotten inside Jim's head and I hope I've captured his essence._

_If you like it (or don't), please please please (*prayer hands*) let me know what you think! _

_*Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all. Except all my clothes and books and whatnot. But nothing in this story._

* * *

Molly reflected on her relationship as she jogged through campus. She loved to be out early in the morning when everyone else was asleep; everything seemed so peaceful. She had hoped it would clear her head. But this morning her mind was wandering as it had done so many times since the incident in the library basement. She and Jim had dated for a bit in high school and through freshman year. Then he'd gone away to London to study for a semester. She'd dreaded it initially but also felt a sense of calm. She loved Jim and had thought they were great together, but she also knew that they were young and break-ups were inevitable and she had her whole life ahead of her- all that stereotypical mumbo-jumbo about finding yourself and not needing a man. Plus, if she was being totally honest with herself, she had never seen it working out long term anyway.

Surprisingly, though, that hadn't been the hard part. His semester in London had gone really well. They talked as much as could be expected for two people with an ocean between them, and she felt closer to him than ever. For the first time, she began to picture them being together for a long time. So she had looked forward to his returning and trying out the relationship in person once again.

Then he actually came back. At first Molly thought maybe she was just unused to having a boyfriend that was around every day instead of once a week on a screen. Having Jim around meant she usually had dinner plans and weekend plans and spring break plans. But gradually she'd realized that she and Jim had different interests and, once they could no longer talk about the newness of freshman year or his adventures in London, they didn't have much they wanted to discuss. He loved sports and current events, while Molly often had her head buried in a book or was invested in a new series on Netflix. After the brief conversations about the days they'd had, they'd either sit in slightly uncomfortable silence or just make out.

Maybe growing apart was natural. But the incident definitely was out of character for her. Never ever had she thought about being unfaithful and she'd always firmly believed that if she'd found someone else she wanted to be with, she'd end her current relationship first.

But she hadn't meant to kiss Sherlock. He'd just kissed her and she'd stopped thinking. Well, not completely. She'd definitely thought about how great it felt. And how nice he smelled. And how her heart pounded like it never did when Jim was near. Although that could have been a result of the whole cheating thing.

So what should she do now? She should definitely break up with him. And then wait a respectable amount of time before even approaching the subject of Sherlock again.

Oh god. Sherlock. She was fairly certain that he didn't know she'd been dating someone. She couldn't just avoid him for a few months and suddenly be interested again.

She arrived back at her apartment and hopped into the shower. She was supposed to see Jim later that day, when she had hopefully decided what she was going to do.

* * *

She opened her door that evening to an unusually excited Jim.

"Babe! Guess what!" he exclaimed as they headed into her room.

"What?" Molly asked, perched on the edge of the bed nervously. Jim didn't seem to notice.

"I finally started watching that show you've been talking about recently, Friends? You're right, I do really enjoy it." He continued to babble on about the show, but Molly was only half listening. He'd never shown any real interest in something like this before. He usually nodded and laughed whenever she talked about a book or a show and then never mentioned it again. He must have noticed they'd been drifting as well.

"I just kind of want to keep watching, do you want to do that this evening after we get dinner? We can go get Thai food," he suggested.

Thai food? Was it her birthday? He hated getting Thai food. Her guilt seized her again as she wondered what was going on with him. "Better follow along and see where this leads," she thought to herself, unwilling to admit that she was too terrified to break his heart now.

* * *

"I have to admit something to you Molly," Jim said as they walked through a quiet part of campus on the way back from dinner.

"Shit. He knows. I don't know how, but he does. Why is he being so nice about it? I don't deserve this," Molly thought to herself. Aloud, she said "hmm?"

"I feel like ever since I've gotten back from London you and I have had less to talk about. That's why I started watching Friends, and I even checked some of your favorite books out from the library to start reading." He paused here, trying to gauge her reaction, then continued, "I don't want to lose you Molly, you're too important to me."

Molly walked in silence for a while, unsure of what to say. Tears welled up in her eyes as she said, "Oh Jim. I can't do this. I love you so much. But…" Molly hesitated and Jim jumped in.

"You've felt it too, haven't you? You want to end it?" The last sentence he said was more of a statement than a question, and for a brief moment Molly saw something in his eyes that terrified her. It passed as quickly as it came, and she tried to imagine it was a trick of the light.

"No, it's not that. I just need to tell you, before we decide what to do, that something's happened. I, I kissed someone else. Sunday. In the library." Jim remained quiet and unreadable. "I'm so sorry Jim. He kissed me and I didn't stop him but it only lasted a second and I've been totally terrible and you've been nothing but great and…" Molly was rambling and Jim cut her off with a kiss.

"Molly. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I can't do that if I know you're always wondering 'what if.' Can you honestly tell me that it meant nothing?" Molly was silent, so he continued, "I think you need to work out whatever this is with whoever he was, and come talk to me when you're sure. I believe in us, and I know deep down, you do too."

Molly was stunned. She didn't think he'd take it this well. He shouldn't be taking it this well. "R-really? I-okay. Okay. I can do that," she stammered, unable to get her thoughts together.

"I'll see you later then Molly," Jim smiled, bent in to give her a quick peck on the cheek, and walked in the other direction towards his apartment.

* * *

Jim had known, of course. Molly was lovely, and definitely worth having around to show off and appease his parents, but she could be so utterly boring and predictable. He'd never have predicted this, even though he'd had her watched while he was in London and kept up the practice once he'd gotten back, just as a precaution. But she was so easily manipulated, and he knew the way he'd acted would have her back to him before a month was over.

He wasn't sure what to do about this Sherlock. He kept to himself mostly, didn't seem to have many friends. He was very focused on his studies, and picking up women at parties every weekend. Was that what Jim's Molly was to him? Just another conquest? Somehow, he doubted it. The kiss hadn't been Sherlock's usual style. More likely Sherlock would tire of her quickly, if Molly even decided to see him again. She was hardly more interesting than his usual bimbos. Still, Jim would have to watch this development closely. It wouldn't do to have his Molly leaving him for good.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello again, my darlings. If you're still reading, you're wonderful and I hope you're enjoying the story._

_Quick note, I'm kind of toying with the idea of changing the rating from T to M because I'm not sure how into detail I really want to go with the more steamy scenes, or with Jim and Molly's future interactions that could get a little intense. So stick with me as I figure this out. Or review and let me know if you have any strong opinions on the subject._

_XOXO and as usual, none of these characters are of my own creation._

* * *

Sherlock sat upside down on his chair with his hands folded, staring at the ceiling. He had been unable to get Molly out of his head ever since that Sunday evening a few weeks ago, and he needed someone to replace the memory. He'd been avoiding even looking at her in class, and thrown himself into his, ah, extracurricular activities. All to no avail.

He got up irritably and started pacing. He'd avoided talking to her in class, but she hadn't seemed too eager to talk to him either. Probably had something to do with the man he'd seen looking at them when she dashed out of the study room. A friend of hers she liked maybe? Or a friend of a friend? Maybe she was dating someone. A boyfriend had never come up, but they'd never had much conversation on that topic.

So maybe she had a boyfriend? Good. All the more reason not to go near her again. He sat down and leapt back up again, pulling his coat off of the hook and slamming the door as he left the room.

* * *

He was rarely hungry, but food was a good distraction. Sherlock headed to his favorite bagel place, closing his coat against the cold. He kept himself from noticing his surroundings, just in case _she _happened to walk anywhere near him.

It worked rather well while he got his bagel and a coffee, although it definitely backfired as he walked out the door and turned, accidentally bumping into someone and dumping coffee down their front.

"Oh!" she yelped in surprise, and Sherlock noticed two very unfortunate facts. One fact was that the poor person on the receiving end of his coffee was Molly. The other fact was that her jacket was open and he'd managed to mostly get the coffee all over her white shirt, which would have been plastered to her skin had she not pulled it away in an attempt to avoid burning herself.

"I am so sorry Molly!" he exclaimed, half of his mind focusing on how wonderful she looked while the other half contemplated the likelihood of getting her back to his apartment to… Well he shouldn't think about where that would go, or he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He definitely shouldn't think about what it might look like if she had to take off that t-shirt; to clean the coffee off of it of course.

"No, no, it's fine," she said distractedly, unsure of what to do. "I wasn't that hungry I guess," she half teased him.

"Let me make it up to you," Sherlock heard himself say, "You can share my bagel and I'll get you something to wear while I clean your shirt."

"Oh, um, well, I guess my place is a bit far," Molly said, sounding unsure. She knew where this was headed, and she wasn't sure she minded.

"Great! Mine is just around the corner," he said, falling into easy conversation with her as they headed back up to his apartment. Part of him was thrilled at having run into her again, even if all they were going to do was talk. Another part of him was horrified about what might happen next. And excited. Caught up in his internal conflict, Sherlock failed to notice the man from the library trailing behind Molly and him as they rounded the corner.

* * *

"Thanks Seb," Jim said, ending the call. It had been almost three weeks since he'd told Molly to figure things out. He'd never thought she'd act on it, but at this rate his one-month goal did not seem plausible.

Then again, Sherlock was much better than Jim had given him credit for. Not that Molly was very hard to win over. She was easily flattered and manipulated and, frankly, quite stupid. If she hadn't been good looking and good in bed, he certainly would have moved on long ago.

But now he needed a way to know what was going on inside that apartment. Tonight was probably a lost cause, unless Moran could find a conveniently located window or something. But it certainly wouldn't be too much to have the place bugged. And maybe he could have it searched once it was empty. They were bound to leave evidence of what they'd been up to, unless they were just that paranoid. Not that Jim needed proof they'd been having sex, because it was just like Molly to give it up on the first date. Jim paced across his apartment, thinking about how he'd have to keep tabs on them. As if he didn't already have enough on his mind.

* * *

Molly followed Sherlock into his apartment, but paused by the door. She was standing in what might pass for a foyer, next to the kitchen and in front of the living room. Beyond the living room was a door that appeared to open into the bedroom, which Sherlock had disappeared into. He reappeared, holding a t-shirt.

"The bathroom is in there. You can throw this on while I take your shirt down to the laundry. I hope you don't mind if I throw it in with some of my things."

"Oh, not at all," Molly said distractedly, still looking around the apartment and trying to take it all in. She went into the bathroom and changed, trying not to like how she looked in his shirt. She walked back into the living room and tossed her shirt to Sherlock, who barely looked at her before throwing it into the hamper and sweeping out of the room.

She looked around and noticed a bookshelf lining the sidewall, filled with all sorts of random books, none of which appeared to be novels. The coffee table was littered with papers, and all sorts of scientific equipment covered the kitchen table. Before she could gather the nerve to get a closer look, Sherlock reentered the room.

"So, um, what shall we do?" he asked, seeming to be out of his element for once.

Molly plopped down onto the couch. "Maybe just watch some TV?" she suggested.

"Sure," Sherlock said, sitting down next to her much closer than he'd meant to. Distracted by his presence and trying not to think about what she had come to call the library incident, Molly jumped up and headed towards the kitchen table.

"So what's all this?" she asked, mentioning to some microscope slides laid out across the table.

"I assume you're not squeamish?"

"Not usually. I want to go into medicine."

"Well I'm doing this experiment on eyeballs…"

* * *

Before Sherlock knew it, the timer for the laundry went off. Somehow he'd managed to talk to her about his experiments for 45 minutes. That had never happened before. Most of the people (okay, women) he brought into the apartment had never even noticed the weird laboratory arrangement set up in his kitchen area. But not only had Molly asked questions about it, she had seemed fascinated. And was able to respond! How incredibly refreshing.

He threw the clothes into the dryer, cursed himself for forgetting the dryer sheets, and then shrugged. He figured if his clothes had turned out okay without a dryer sheet the past 100 times he'd done laundry, they'd be fine this time.

Sherlock returned to his apartment to find Molly reading the back cover of one of the books on his shelf. "You can borrow it if you'd like," he suggested. Wow, who was he turning into? Letting someone borrow his books? He was wrapped around her finger already.

She blushed and he noticed what was in her hand. _An Idiot's Guide to Pathology_. "Oh, no, I've actually already read it. I was just surprised you had it, that's all."

"Did you like it?" Sherlock asked eagerly, launching into a conversation about the book and pulling about six others down from the shelf as he did so. Once again, he was shocked to hear the laundry timer go off.

People were supposed to bore him. He usually had to turn off his brain when he talked to them, and make a conscious effort not to be rude and condescending. Usually, it was immediately clear he didn't give a rat's ass about what was being said to him. Even when people seemed to share his interests, they were too pretentious or ignorant or wrong to be worth his time. But with Molly he could talk for hours, and she could hold up her end of the conversation. That alone was nothing short of a miracle.

It was with great reluctance he tossed her back her shirt and she darted into the bathroom to change again.

"Thank you, so much. You really didn't have to wash it for me," Molly said as she emerged.

"I spilled the coffee, I should wash the shirt."

"Yes, well, thank you. I, um, had fun," Molly could feel the blush creeping into her cheeks, a feeling she was growing used to around Sherlock.

"I enjoyed your company. Would you like to get dinner?"

"Tonight? Oh, no, I promised my roommate I would get dinner with her and I really should work on this paper I have due," Molly was going to continue listing her schedule in an attempt to somehow circle back around and accept his proposal but Sherlock cut her off.

"I didn't mean this evening. Does Friday work? I could pick you up from your apartment at seven," he mentally kicked himself for his shortness.

"That'd be lovely, Sherlock, I look forward to it," Molly gave him her name and phone number, then departed with a "See you Friday!" although she couldn't refrain from doing a quick happy dance in the hallway.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was locking away every detail of the afternoon in his mind, already trying to think up topics of conversation for Friday. And trying to deduce where he should take her for dinner.

* * *

Jim himself watched Molly leave the apartment building with a spring in her step. Unfortunately, he had no idea what had gone on inside, but her shirt came out free of coffee stains so he could only assume it had gotten washed. And what man could resist a shirtless Molly? Based on the look on her face, they would be seeing each other again. And next time he would not be this clueless.

He pressed a few buttons on his phone. "Hey Seb, I'm going to need you to do something for me."


	4. Chapter 4

_Quick note: I made up these listening devices Moran uses because I needed something to put into my story, and this was written a little while ago. It was only just now, as I am editing this and overhearing a conversation on the recent plane crash that I realize some part of my subconscious must have been inspired by those "black boxes". Obviously the ones Moran uses are not the same thing but just listening devices that are (hopefully) not easily detectable, but you get the idea. Weird the way the mind works sometimes._

_Unfortunately, none of those things are mine to claim. BBC, you lucky ducks._

* * *

Moran hurriedly picked the lock, which gave him a little more trouble than he'd been counting on, and slipped inside Sherlock's apartment. Jim had assured him that if he managed to get the small black box, small enough to sit on his finger, behind a book, it would be well hidden but able to pick up audio. If he could put one in the living room and one in the bedroom, all the better.

Luckily for Moran, the whole wall of the living area was lined with bookshelves. He quickly scanned the titles, and figured Sherlock was least likely to ever remove the dictionary. He peaked inside the cover, which included a handwritten note signed "Love, Mummy" and knew he'd made the right choice. He put the box in the empty spot left by the dictionary and replaced the book. Luck appeared to be on his side today, for the dust on the bookshelves settled in such a random pattern, as if books were constantly pulled in and out, Moran doubted Sherlock would notice.

Moran then crept into Sherlock's bedroom. This one would be harder, since there wasn't much furniture in here. The only possible place was the desk, which looked much more used than the dictionary. Hoping he wasn't running out of time, Moran knelt onto the floor and looked under the bed. Other than some boxes that appeared to be for long-term storage, the space was empty. The bug was so small and Moran doubted Sherlock used the space enough, that if it were ever found, it would be long after Jim hoped Molly and Sherlock's flirtation would be over. Besides, the bug was high tech. Very few people would even know what it was if they managed to find and examine it. Hopefully Sherlock was not one of those people.

Moran gently placed his second small black box safely under the bed and stood, listening. All seemed quiet, and he made his way out of the apartment and locked the door behind him.

Once he'd made his way out of the building, Moran sent Jim an all-clear text. By the time he passed Sherlock on the street, he was too far away to be associated with having gone into the building at all.

* * *

The first thing Sherlock thought was off as he returned from class was that he once again saw the man from the library in his street. He'd never seen him (never noticed him) before his first kiss with Molly and now, he was everywhere.

The second was that someone had moved his dictionary. The first thing he had done when he got in his apartment was gone over everything with a figurative fine-toothed comb. The dust around the dictionary his mummy had gotten him as a graduation present was disturbed. Which was wrong, since he hadn't touched it since he'd put it there. He slowly moved it out of place, then saw the little black box, and put it back in its place as quietly as possible. There were very few things that that small black box could be, and he didn't want to take any chances on revealing to whoever put it there that Sherlock knew it was there.

After he finished going over his apartment, he decided that the black box behind the dictionary was the only unusual thing. No one stole anything, so they weren't after his research, or money. He didn't have much else to his name. Nothing he did could really be used as blackmail to his family, since anything odd he did he did openly. So unless the black box was some sort of bomb sent to kill him, it was probably a listening device. But why in the hell would someone want to listen to him?

He narrowed down his options to two. One possibility was a crazy ex (if they could even be called that) who was delusional enough to think they could catch him doing something and use it against him. Very unlikely.

The other option was that, as the only new thing in his life, it had something to do with his developing relationship (he mentally stuttered over the word) with Molly. Not wanting to spoil the mood on their first date, Sherlock simply filed the information away, resolving to ask her some questions soon.

* * *

At 7:00 sharp that Friday there was a knock on Molly's door, which she opened immediately. Not that she'd been standing behind it for the past five minutes waiting, or anything. She cursed herself internally for probably seeming over eager, but forgot everything as soon as she saw Sherlock.

He was wearing a light blue button up shirt (sleeves rolled up) and dark jeans, which looked weird compared to the classy way he was usually dressed. Not that this was any less classy. Just more casual. And definitely sexy.

Molly, for once, felt perfectly well dressed in her light blue, polka-dotted sundress with perfectly comfortable but still cute wedges. Even with her acceptable outfit and dash of makeup, she felt as though she paled in comparison to Sherlock. She'd never given it much thought before, but now that they were going on a date, she was worried that people would look at them and wonder what on earth _he _was doing with _her_. Then he smiled and said, "You look lovely," and all her worries were forgotten. She locked the door behind her and slipped her key in her purse as he took her hand.

"So," she asked, "where are we headed?"

"Well, how do you feel about Thai food?"

* * *

"Good night Molly," Sherlock said as he stood with Molly in front of her door. She unlocked the door then turned back to face him, aware of how close he was standing.

"Good night Sherlock," she replied, as he leaned in closer.

"I had a great time tonight," she whispered, his lips mere centimeters from hers.

"So did I," he breathed before closing the distance.

If Molly thought she felt fireworks the first time, that was nothing. She tried to take in every little detail but kissing him was like having her brain explode. He pulled her closer and she curled her fingers through his hair. He held onto her for a brief moment longer and then broke them apart.

"See you in class," he said before he turned and walked off, leaving Molly outside her apartment door wondering what went wrong. Or if anything had gone wrong at all. Until then, the date had gone beautifully. That was what she chose to focus on. He had taken her to a Thai restaurant on the other side of town, then they'd walked around the park and gotten ice cream and sat on the benches by the river and continued their conversations from their afternoon together a few days ago. What did it matter if he didn't come inside? It was probably better they take things slowly.

But something about that kiss had made him nervous. Molly thought about it as she climbed into bed and tried to distract herself with some reading, and continued to worry as she drifted into sleep. She supposed it could be worse. At least the worry was mixed with pleasant thoughts about how he'd held her hand or opened the doors or given her that wonderful good night kiss.

Not once during the entire evening had she given Jim any thought.

* * *

Sherlock had had a wonderful evening. Molly was pleasant to spend time with in ways that people so rarely were. He had always been quicker than other people, and it seemed to make them uncomfortable. Molly, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind that his brain moved at one-hundred miles an hour, or that he didn't seem to care about social conventions and would much rather talk about his somewhat gruesome experiments and recent happenings in various scientific fields than chat about the mundane details of their days or the nice weather they'd been experiencing. In turn, he had tried not to be rude to her, letting her speak and genuinely listening. He'd been surprised at how interested he'd been. Yes, Molly was definitely an enigma. His enigma.

He did regret how he'd left though. He hadn't remembered exactly how good it felt to kiss her, and he needed to keep things slow with her. Not that he was sure going fast would ruin anything, but he didn't want to take any chances. He knew she would have to find out about his usual habits with women at some point, and he didn't want her to have any reason to think she was just another in a long list for him.

He should have asked her out on another date. He would have to do so in class Monday. Sherlock couldn't wait to see her again, and found his mind so preoccupied that he almost didn't recognize his stalker from the library watching as he'd left Molly's building. Almost.

* * *

Jim was surprised to hear Moran tell him that Sherlock had left Molly's building very soon after going into it. This definitely meant that Molly was more to Sherlock than some conquest. He never took women anywhere but back to his apartment, and Molly had gotten an entire date.

What was so special about Molly anyway? This Sherlock seemed to have no friends, and Jim had known Molly long enough that she didn't seem to be anything special. Sure, she made good marks, but she read too much and watched too many weird TV shows. And she had loved her old cat, disgusting creature that he was. Jim had been glad when the old thing had succumbed to whatever "disease" cats might suffer from, although apparently the vet never could figure it out.

He would definitely have to watch this new development closely. Sherlock would surely tire of her soon, and Jim could swoop in and remind her where she belonged. Making it obvious to Molly how Sherlock usually acted with women should do the trick.


	5. Chapter 5

_I've changed the rating based on what's coming up in the next few chapters. This one should be okay, its mostly filler, and I'll post a warning before my chapters start to contain more mature content._

_Also, I've received a review asking me why Jim wants Molly back so badly if he hates her/only wants her for her looks, and I thought I'd address that... In a nutshell, he's crazy and possessive and it doesn't matter whether or not he liked Molly b/c she was more of a trophy than a person to him. The way I see it, this is more of a competition to Jim (who is not fond of having been passed up for another man) and Molly is simply a pawn... (although it could be argued that he does have feelings for her and just doesn't want to admit to himself that he might actually be dependent on another person and therefore hates her for making him feel this way. All in how you want to read it). Please let me know if I'm doing a good job of conveying this or if you don't think Jim is very believable... I always love to receive a review, good or bad :)_

_Disclaimer: I still don't have the rights to these characters, although they are near and dear to my heart._

* * *

Molly and Sherlock went on several more dates over the course of the next few weeks, and Molly began hanging out at Sherlock's apartment during most of her free time. They had fallen into that simple, quick companionship that is sometimes hard to find. Sometimes they would sit and talk for hours, and other times Molly was content to read or do homework or watch some TV while Sherlock conducted experiments or worked on his own schoolwork.

Another big relationship milestone occurred over fall break, when Molly stayed on campus because she didn't feel like making the long drive home just for four days. The only thing waiting for her in her hometown were old friends who would all ask about Jim, and her father, who might ask about Jim if she got to see him at all that weekend. She loved her father dearly, but he was so preoccupied running his small convenience store that she had only ever seen him during her childhood when she went in to work with him or at the family dinners her mother insisted they have.

So she had decided to stay on campus, and luckily for her, Sherlock was also going to stay. Because, according to him, it was too much hassle to fly back to London for four days. Molly's mouth had dropped at that.

"You told me you went to boarding school in the Northeast. You never mentioned that your parents shipped you over from England," she'd said before she could think, instantly regretting her choice of the word 'shipped'.

"Yes, well, I made a bit of trouble in my boarding schools back home and I was never particularly good for the family name, so my parents decided they could send me here and pretty much forget about me. Although they did secure my golden child of an older brother a place in the government here so he could keep an eye on me," he smirked at that. Molly hadn't known he'd had an older brother either. He'd briefly mentioned not being close to his family, and she'd briefly mentioned growing apart from her father after her mother died, but that was all the conversation they'd really had on the topic. And that conversation ended there as well, leaving Molly wondering more about the state of the Holmes' family affairs.

The entirety of the four-day fall break was spent in Sherlock's apartment, with the two spending the days in their usual manner and sleeping contentedly in each other's arms at night. Although they had yet to actually have sex. Their more steamy moments always stopped before it got to that point, and neither of them were in any hurry to check off that box. Although they had had a somewhat awkward conversation on the subject.

"So, um, Molly, I, I hope that you are okay with the state of our, um, physical affairs," Sherlock had said one day from the kitchen area while Molly was curled up on the couch with a book.

"Our what?" Molly questioned, somewhat taken aback. She assumed he was talking about sex, but because he was usually so frank, she was unsure.

Sherlock looked uncomfortable. "I hope that its okay that we haven't had sex."

There was the more blunt Sherlock she knew and … liked (her brain unwilling to yet use that other l-word).

"Honestly, after Jim, I haven't been in much of a hurry," Molly confessed, and Sherlock walked over to sit next to her and take her into his arms.

"I just think that I should tell you I usually move much faster. Before you I was the sleep with a stranger and never call again type. I'm not much for relationships."

"Then why do you keep going on dates with me?" Molly said, somewhat surprised by the information he revealed. What they had was the exact opposite of what he had just described.

"You intrigue me. I like talking to you and I like that you seem to like talking to me too. People usually don't," he paused to place a kiss on her head. "And I've been taking things slowly with you because I like getting to know you. I hope that's okay with you."

"That's perfectly fine with me, Sherlock," Molly said, unable to contain her smile, as she turned to place a kiss on his lips. There wasn't much talking after that.

* * *

The weeks continued to fly by, both of them busy with their studies, until a few weeks before finals when the two discussed winter break plans.

"Molly, how will you be spending your winter break?" Sherlock asked over dinner on one of their increasingly rare date nights. Finding time when they both could go out instead of collapsing into the sofa at the end of a long day was hard with finals coming up.

"Oh, I haven't thought much about it. Going back home I guess," Molly looked appalled at the thought.

"Would you like to accompany me to London? My parents don't entirely believe I've managed to keep a girl going out with me for this long. And I don't think I could spend a month apart from you," Sherlock said offhand, although there was an unexpected burst of sentiment. Molly knew he cared and appreciated her, it was obvious from his actions, but he rarely put such ideas into words.

Blushing, Molly tried to find the words to decline, "Oh, Sherlock, thank you very much for the offer, but I just can't spare the money for a plane ticket and I couldn't ask you to do that, and I certainly couldn't ask your parents to find room for me in their house for an entire month, especially over the Christmas holidays."

"I should have been more explicit in my offer, Molly, I apologize. I will be taking the family jet home, so it will cost us the same whether there are two people on it or two hundred. As for the rooms, the family home has plenty to spare, and I hope to divide our time between the family home and a flat in London anyway."

Molly looked at him inquisitively. She'd known his family had money, it was obvious from his apartment and his clothes and the way he held himself, but she hadn't quite realized the status the Holmes family held.

"Family house?" was all her brain seemed to be able to manage.

"Yes, we have a family home an hour or so outside of London, with two rather nice flats in London and a smaller home on the coast."

Molly absolutely didn't know what to say to that. "I guess I will call my dad then, and see if he can spare me. He's been spending a lot of time with his new girlfriend and her family, I'm sure if I come down to visit some other time he'll be happy to let me go."

"Excellent," Sherlock smiled that smile that made Molly melt, and she had a hard time focusing when he began talking about the results of his experiments on pipe tobacco.

* * *

The rest of the semester and finals flew by, and before she knew it Molly found herself in Sherlock's apartment after her last final, wondering what to do. They weren't leaving for London for three more days, and for the first time they could be together without the imminent threat of assignments due and tests to study for lingering over their heads.

Their intimate relationship had also been getting closer and closer to sex, and Molly wondered if tonight wasn't a good time to maybe see if Sherlock wanted to cross that line. She sat on the couch, scrolling through Netflix aimlessly before deciding to give a good friend of hers, Mary, a call. A shopping trip that afternoon would be just what she needed to welcome Sherlock home that evening.

* * *

"So is tonight the night then?" Mary asked with a somewhat wicked grin on her face. Molly blushed but said, "I think it might be. And I wanted to wear something special. What do you usually wear for John?"

Mary laughed at the mention of her boyfriend of three years. "Not a whole lot," she raised her eyebrows suggestively. "But if I really want something out of him, I wear something like this!" Mary pulled out something very see through and with a lot of lace.

Molly laughed. "Could you imagine? Me? Wearing that?"

"I think Sherlock would love to imagine you wearing this."

"Shut up," Molly laughed, taking the offending piece of lingerie along with a few others back to a changing room.

A few minutes later she heard Mary ask, "So is it too sexy? You don't want to give the poor guy a heart attack!" She laughed.

Molly stared at herself in the mirror. It was quite sexy. She'd never really worn anything like it before. Sex with Jim had been a very casual affair. This was anything but casual. "I think I might," she said. "The poor guy won't know what hit him," she laughed, pulling on her regular clothes and coming out of the changing room with her intended purchase. She laughed as she saw Mary holding up some scraps of fabric to herself in front of a mirror. "I need John to take me to my dreadful cousin's wedding next month… Do you think this will make up for it?"

"Honey, I think if you're looking to wear something to a wedding you want to find an outfit that covers all the important bits!" Molly laughed as Mary playfully shoved her.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry I ended the chapter here, but it kind of just felt like a good place to stop. Stay tuned to see how Sherlock feels about Molly's purchase ;)_


	6. Chapter 6

_Based on the ending of that last chapter, I'm sure you know what's coming in this one. It's a little steamy, although it's definitely not smut. I didn't really want to go that far, I'm taking baby steps on this whole writing thing._

_My previous disclaimers still apply._

* * *

"Molly?" Sherlock called as he walked into his apartment that evening, glad to have finally finished his last exam.

"I'm in here!" she called from the bedroom. Sherlock couldn't place the tone of her voice, she sounded somewhat nervous.

"Molly, are you oka-" he stopped when she stepped out of the bedroom and he saw what she was wearing. It took him a bit longer than it normally would have to notice she was blushing furiously.

"So um- how do I… look?" she stammered, seeming as though she was trying to be confident but only highlighting her nervousness. And her sexiness. Sherlock wanted to look at her forever but instead deciding to close the distance between them in two huge strides and crushing her to his body as he kissed her passionately. "So you like it then?" she smirked as she broke the kiss and started peeling off his coat and fumbling over the buttons on his shirt.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbled against her as he reconnected their kiss and helped her remove the remainder of his clothing. He paused and pulled away again as something clicked in his brain.

"Molly, does this mean you want to… are we going to consummate our relationship tonight?" he asked, hoping he was on the right track.

She smiled up at him, "I want to if you do."

He nodded mutely and let her pull him into the bedroom.

* * *

"My flight's just landed, I'm headed over to your place now," she said in place of a greeting when Jim answered his phone.

Jim grinned a stereotypically evil grin. This timing had worked out even better than he planned. As much as he hated the idea of what Molly and Sherlock were doing at the moment (and he hated even more that listening in combination with remembering Molly naked was causing an uncomfortable tightness below his belt), timing the woman's arrival after their first real night together was something he hadn't even hoped for. It would make Sherlock's secrecy that much more hurtful to Molly, who should be back in Jim's arms by the time she and Sherlock should be on that stupid plane to London.

"Perfect. Can't wait to see you, my dear," he said before snapping the phone shut. This woman would have intimidated him (not that he would ever admit it; he maintained an illusion of complete control) but their motives lined up so perfectly. Usually his relationships were based on fear instead of mutual need for one another, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

And he couldn't have asked for a more perfect form of help. She was the much more interesting woman he'd gone to when Molly just hadn't been enough, When he called, she had listened to his problem intently, before revealing that she had been with Sherlock for most of last semester. She did not take kindly to being replaced in her absence, since she was spending the current semester abroad.

"Business as usual, Jim darling?" was her way of greeting him as she walked into his apartment a little while later, setting her luggage on the floor and pulling out her riding crop.

* * *

As they tumbled into the bedroom, Sherlock began pulling that wonderful piece of fabric off of Molly's body, loving what she looked like but needing even more to see what she looked like underneath. He'd seen her naked before, but it was different knowing that tonight they didn't have to hold themselves back.

Once she was naked, she flopped back onto his bed in what should have been an unflattering motion but ended up being terribly sexy. He stood above her, admiring his view for just a few moments, before she got up and dragged him down with her.

* * *

Sherlock woke up to the very out-of-place sound of someone knocking on his door. Molly, curled up next to him, mumbling some sounds of confusion but didn't appear to deem the sound important enough to get up, apparently. After the pause, there was another round of knocking and Sherlock pulled himself out of bed. He scrambled around to pull on some pants, not bothering with underwear, and finally made it to the door for the third round of knocking.

"May I help you?" he said, keeping up a thin facade of friendliness. It dropped immediately when he registered who was standing in front of him.

"Irene? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well my flight just landed and I need somewhere to crash," she said very matter-of-factly. She moved in closer to him and purred, "I didn't think you'd have any objections after last semester."

"Sherlock? What's going on?" Molly had apparently decided to get up and Sherlock didn't need the smirk on Irene's face to know that she had heard Irene's last sentence. But for the time being, he ignored her to address Irene. He scoffed as he looked her up and down and said, "If you truly needed a place to stay, you would have been here last night. It doesn't take any great effort to deduce that you did not just step off a plane but have at least had time to shower and freshen up. No flight arrives early enough for you to have accomplished that already this morning. You'd need a place to shower anyway. If you'd gotten a hotel room for just the night, you could have waited around a little longer before coming to see me because checkout time certainly hasn't passed yet. Additionally, I have no missed calls on my phone so you did not desperately try to call me last night or see if I was up and about this morning before coming over. Obviously, you were hoping to gain something by surprising me."

Unfortunately for Sherlock, it had worked. Molly was already getting suspicious and the next words out of Irene's mouth didn't help anything.

"I know we left it open when I left but I thought after practically living here last semester you'd at least take me in until I can move into my housing for next term. I crashed somewhere temporary last night but I really wasn't welcome and had to leave as soon as possible. Please, Sherlock, just for a few nights?" Irene hated this role she had to play but knew she was good at it. Usually. Unfortunately, it had never really worked on Sherlock. But more importantly, it was definitely working on Molly, whom she was pretending not to have noticed.

"Leave, Irene. Let someone else in between your legs for a few weeks and stay with them," he snapped, slamming the door in her face but not daring to turn around to face Molly.

Irene smirked as the door snapped closed and dragged her stuff down the hallway, already on the way to her new (admittedly much better than Sherlock's) apartment.

* * *

"Practically lived with you last semester?" Molly whispered, Sherlock now resting his head on the door.

"I guess I should have told you about her. But it was nothing. She didn't even cross my mind as important," he mumbled into the wood.

"You don't 'practically live' with people who mean nothing Sherlock!"

He turned around. "We didn't practically live together, Molly, she was exaggerating. She spent the night in my apartment frequently but it was only ever sex. We-"

"Oh, ONLY sex, that makes me feel so much better!" Molly huffed, cutting him off.

"Molly, please, listen to me. I know I left her out and that seems suspicious but its only because she really was a one night stand. It just happened more than once." Sherlock timidly stepped closer and Molly crossed her arms and looked away.

"Maybe I should just go home instead of coming with you to London," she mumbled, as if unsure of what she was saying.

Sherlock was truly hurt but took a deep breath before saying something he'd regret.

"No Molly," he said, after a long pause. "Please, come with me. I can't face my family alone."

"Awfully selfish reason to bring me with you," her voice was like ice and Sherlock mentally kicked himself.

"Molly, I'm sorry, I don't care about London. I just want you to be happy with me again. I don't know how else to say she was nothing. But you, you are more than I ever thought I could find in another person." Sherlock took a deep breath in, not having ever really admitted this to her, or himself, before. But he needed her to stay.

"You talk to me and you show interest in my experiments and you can keep up with my conversations and you put up with my occasional social shortcomings." Here Molly snorted, which Sherlock hoped he was correct in interpreting as a good sign. Unfortunately he lost his train of thought. Instead of carrying on, he just moved closer, and Molly didn't shrink away. She let him hug her, sinking into his chest.

"You're still in trouble, you ass," she mumbled into his chest.

He laughed. "I love you, Molly Hooper," he whispered as he bent down to give her a kiss.

There was a reprise of the events of last night, although somehow they were even better this time around.

* * *

Obviously their "love" was stronger than Jim had thought. He thought sensitive, overreacting Molly would have run from any sign of Sherlock's possible deceptions, especially after such an emotional night for her. Obviously, he was going to need something much bigger than this. He had all of winter break to scheme, especially since they'd be jetting off on a little lover's holiday across the pond where he practically couldn't reach them.

Jim needed something big. Something that would make him look like Molly's old familiar, loving boyfriend and Sherlock appear to be just some quick fling, ready to toss her aside at the first sign of real trouble. And Jim knew exactly how to accomplish that.

* * *

_A/N: I felt like I made Molly kind of quick to forgive Sherlock (I had originally planned for this to be a much bigger deal and to be dragged out longer) but as I was writing this, I realized that it felt wrong to drag it out more. I just feel like Molly recognizes that she really likes Sherlock and that he didn't tell her about Irene b/c he honestly didn't think it relevant. Honestly, if I were Molly I'd be more worried about Irene if Sherlock HAD mentioned her previously, b/c that means she was something important to him. But I am done rambling now, my darlings. I hope sharing these thoughts at least lets you see where I'm coming from._

_Okay, *almost* done rambling. I also recognize that what Sherlock says he likes about Molly is mentioned in a previous chapter, which kind of conflicts with him having not admitted it to himself before. But I feel like previously I was kind of stating facts and this time I was having Sherlock realize these things. But maybe I did a terrible job of writing this scene in general. Review and let me know! (she says, shamelessly begging for reviewers). XOXO_


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer still applies, unfortunately for me._

* * *

"I can't believe I'm going to London. I've never been overseas before. I've never even left the US," Molly babbled as she excitedly watched the ground underneath them sink further and further away. Sherlock had heard all of this before, of course, but was barely listening now anyway since he preferred to sleep his way through the flight.

"Mm-hmm, its nice," he mumbled as he reclined his chair and closed his eyes, the pills he took to sleep taking their effect already.

Molly rolled her eyes and turned back to the window. Luckily she'd brought books and movies to entertain herself, although sleeping wouldn't be a bad idea either. She probably wouldn't tolerate jet lag well, and she needed to be in top shape before meeting Sherlock's parents.

* * *

Molly woke up to Sherlock shaking her shoulder. "Molly! Molly, wake up." She mumbled at him sleepily, having not even realized she'd fallen asleep sometime after watching _The Princess Bride_, again. "The plane should begin its descent in about an hour. If you want to freshen up, now would be the time."

That caused Molly to wake up. She was not one to focus much on her appearance and rarely wore makeup, but she did want to make herself look presentable for the first time meeting his family.

A little while later, Molly had fully applied her makeup and the plane had landed at what appeared to be a small private airport in the middle of the English countryside. Sherlock ushered her into a waiting car while the driver took care of their bags.

"Jesus, Sherlock, are you some sort of landed aristocrat?" Molly joked.

"Be prepared to be taken back a few centuries," was Sherlock's teasing reply, although Molly sensed some bitterness. As excited as she was to spend the holidays in the Holmes household, she was even more excited to spend the last few weeks of break alone with Sherlock in his family flat in London. Much less pressure to be perfect there. At this rate, she knew she'd disappoint his parents by arriving without a sizeable trust fund or a small country to her name.

* * *

"Sherlock! Molly! Oh its so good to see you both!" a woman exclaimed as the car pulled up in front of a gorgeous, stereotypically English estate and Sherlock and Molly climbed out. The woman embraced Molly, claiming "its good to finally meet you dear! We haven't heard nearly enough about you from our closed book of a son." Molly chuckled, unsure what to say. She hadn't heard anything from Sherlock about his family, even when she'd questioned him about what they did or what they were like.

"Mother." Sherlock said shortly, leaning in to give her a brief peck on the cheek.

"Go on up to your room before dinner, dear. I'll go show Molly to where she'll be staying," Mrs. Holmes dismissed him and swept Molly off before she'd even introduced herself. Not that she appeared as though she intended to introduce herself, for she guided Molly through the halls of what could only be described as the Holmes manor. She would give a brief history of many of the paintings they passed, interspersed with comments such as, "And here is the dining room! We'll be eating here tonight, don't forget," and "This hallway leads to the kitchens, if you ever need a snack or a glass of water." Finally they arrived at Molly's room.

"Here you are, dear. I hope it's to your liking. I'll leave you here to get settled, Sherlock will have found where I've put you before too long. Dinner is in an hour, just ring this bell here if you need anything before then! I'll be in the parlor when you're ready." Molly thanked her, almost feeling as though she should curtsy. She felt extraordinarily rude for having not said anything during the entire walk up to the room, but she hadn't had time to. She felt as though Mrs. Holmes knew that if Molly never got the chance to speak, she would never get the chance to prove what a disappointing girlfriend her son had managed to find.

Molly sighed and walked over to the window. While the room was huge and magnificently decorated, the view was even better. It depicted a peaceful countryside with the house's gardens in the foreground and fields and other homes in the background. The best part was it allowed her to forget how out of place she was here.

She heard someone open the door and turned to the sound, relieved to see Sherlock walking into the room. He hugged her from behind, his head on her shoulders, and whispered, "I am sorry you have to deal with this. Its only for a few days."

"No, I don't mind, she seemed nice," Molly said flatly, as Sherlock chuckled into her neck before he began kissing it.

"Not here," she hissed, "we have dinner soon."

Sherlock made a non-committal noise that Molly roughly translated to "who cares?" Suddenly he spun her around and firmly planted a kiss on her lips.

"C'mon, let me walk you around the grounds," he abruptly changed the subject, leading her out of the room and down the hall.

* * *

Christmas passed almost without event in the Holmes manor. Everyone was very welcoming to Molly, even if they didn't seem to embrace her fully. She hadn't really hoped for that much, honestly, so it was hard to be disappointed. And Sherlock only had a few awkward encounters and strained silences with his parents. Although one of the most awkward conversations occurred the day before they were supposed to leave.

"I've had the Baker Street flat prepared for you dear," Mrs. Holmes said over dinner that evening. "I assume you will be all packed in the morning and I can have your luggage sent there."

Mycroft snorted into his dinner, not even pretending to turn it into a cough. "Baker Street? We haven't sold that dump yet?"

Sherlock's father refrained comment as usual, although for once he did look like he wanted to say something. Instead his mother said, "Mycroft, you know that's your brother's favorite place to stay in London," with a smirk on her face that demonstrated she felt very similarly to her eldest about Baker Street.

"Thank you Mother," Sherlock sneered, "I'm sure it will be up to its usual standards."

Mycroft didn't even bother to hide his laugh, "Not as though your standards are particularly high." He lowered his voice, although not enough so that the whole table couldn't still hear him say, "As long as its got a bed for the two of you…"

Molly blushed scarlet but remained silent. Before Sherlock got the chance to retort, his mother said, "As long as Sherlock is doing something to get me grandkids, Mycroft, I can't complain. He's closer than you are."

Molly kept her eyes glued to her plate, feeling her cheeks burn at the very obvious slight towards her and Sherlock.

Sherlock stood abruptly. "Thank you for allowing Molly and I to stay here Mother, it's been a lovely holiday. I assure you we will be out of here in the morning." He stalked out of the dining room, leaving Molly to squeak, "Thank you for your hospitality," and follow.

Sherlock was upstairs throwing things in his trunk. "Just go pack, Molly," he snapped as she entered his room behind him.

"Fine," she huffed, and turned on her heel to walk down the hall to her room.

* * *

Sherlock and Molly left the next morning for London as if nothing had happened. Molly thanked Mrs. Holmes profusely for her hospitality and Mrs. Holmes encouraged her to return any time. Not that Molly really believed her, but the sentiment was nice.

Sherlock was quiet on the drive and Molly didn't press him, still slightly hurt by his coldness the night before. Not that she entirely blamed him; his family was brutal.

London itself was wonderful, and Molly almost forgot to wonder why Mycroft would consider the well-kept Baker Street flat a dump. It suited her and Sherlock's needs just fine. They spent so much time running around sightseeing that they barely did more than sleep there.

In the end, she was sad to leave London but ready to get back to school. Sherlock had been slightly more removed than usual since leaving her parents house, and she tried not to take the fact that they had not had sex again too personally. Hopefully things would return to normal back in the states.

* * *

Jim's plan was all set. All he needed was for Molly and Sherlock to return from their little lover's vacation and for Sherlock to leave Molly alone. Then Jim could swoop in and show that little bitch what a loving, perfect boyfriend he was compared to Sherlock fucking Holmes.

* * *

_A/N: Not a whole lot happens in this chapter, just a few points to move the plot forward. I really wish I could describe their vacation in London with any sort of detail, but I've never been and I'm entirely sure I couldn't do it justice. One day... _

_Thanks for reading! Stay tuned to see what Jim has up his sleeve ;)_


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello lovely readers. I am so sorry it's been this long since I've posted. It's partly because finals are coming up and I have been super busy, and partly because I know where I want this story to go but I'm having a hard time writing it out. If you stick with me I promise you'll be rewarded with a finished story before long! (And I do mean that. Only about two or three more chapters after this I think...)_

_Thanks to everybody who keeps reviewing, I love the positive feedback and do truly consider the not so positive. A lot of it involves questions of why on earth Jim wants Molly back if he hates her so much and I know I've addressed that before so I won't really go into it. But let's just all keep in mind that Jim is a psychopath who doesn't really view Molly as a person._

_Disclaimers: The characters? Not mine. Never were. I do enjoy writing about them though._

* * *

Molly and Sherlock got back on campus about a week before classes were scheduled to start. They resumed their comfortable school-break routine, where she essentially lived in his apartment and they spent most of their time doing separate activities but enjoying the other's presence. One marked difference this time was that Molly was unsure of Sherlock's behavior. She had known, and accepted, the fact that he could be a little rough to deal with sometimes. He didn't always understand relationships or say the right thing, and that was usually okay with Molly.

Now, however, Molly couldn't tell if he was being his usually loving but somewhat distant self and she was just reading into it, or if something was wrong and he was removing himself from the situation and refusing to talk to her.

They still made conversation and were still somewhat physical with each other, but ever since leaving for London, they hadn't had sex again. Molly strongly suspected it had something to do with that extraordinarily awkward dinner conversation, but she had no idea how to bring it up. Besides, could that really be it? The fact that his family didn't like her shouldn't matter so much to Sherlock, since he had expressed obvious displeasure at his family's opinion's before.

Maybe it had something to do with that woman who showed up at his apartment before he left. The one he assured her didn't mean anything. "No Molly, don't go down that path," she whispered to herself. It would definitely be best to just talk to him. If only she could figure out how.

* * *

Molly wandered into the kitchen mid-afternoon, waiting for Sherlock to have gotten to a reasonable stopping point in the experiment he was running. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" he didn't even stop tapping his foot and staring at the wall clock, obviously waiting for the hour of incubation time to pass.

"Can we talk for a moment?"

"Of course," still looking at the clock.

"Are you okay?" Molly paused. "With, you know, everything? With us? And, and all that…" Molly let her voice get weaker and then trail off. She hated how she sounded but she was always terrible with confrontation. Her mind went blank.

He wrenched his view from the clock and looked at her with that unnervingly steady gaze. "Why wouldn't you think I'm okay?" The accusation in his voice stung.

Molly started to get angry. "You've been acting all funny ever since we've gotten back." She tried not to let that anger show in her voice.

"That's what you think of me? I act funny?!" Sherlock did start to raise his voice.

"Of course not, you ass. I wouldn't have put up with you this long if I did."

"No, no. Go ahead and speak the truth. I'm abnormal and you've finally gotten tired of it."

"You know that's not true, stop trying to take away from what's at hand here. I was just trying to ask you a simple question, no need to get all defensive," Molly was much too close to yelling now.

"I'm fine, if you can't accept how I act maybe you shouldn't be here."

"You aren't fine, you're acting like you want to get rid of me!" Molly was really letting her emotions talk now, all logic long abandoned. "Is it because your mother hates me? Or your brother thinks I'm a whore? Or is it maybe because you want to get back with that woman who was wandering around here three weeks ago!" _Oh shit, Molly, you've done it now, _she thought to herself as her tirade ended.

Sherlock got quiet. "If that's what you think, I'll let you gather your things and leave." And with that, Sherlock got up and flew out of the apartment without another word. Molly sank into the chair he'd abandoned, too stunned to sob.

She had no idea where those words had come from. She had let her feelings build up for too long and things she didn't even believe suddenly sounded plausible. It only took her a second to know she'd been wrong, another second to realize she'd cut him to the core, and only a moment to jump up and try to follow Sherlock. Unfortunately for her, by the time she reached the street there was no sign of him anywhere. She returned to his apartment and sunk onto the bed, waiting for him to return.

* * *

Jim heard the whole fight and knew his time to act had come. He sent off a couple quick texts and sat back, waiting for his plan to get set into motion.

* * *

Sherlock regretted his actions almost as quickly as Molly did. By the time he'd reached the park down the block, he knew he should go back before she was gone. He'd let his parents get to him. All the time they'd been in that accursed house he'd thought about how Molly deserved a better boyfriend who could take her home to nice parents that saw what a wonderful person she was. She also deserved a boyfriend who was sweet, and thoughtful, and just generally not him. But he'd been too selfish. He hadn't wanted to let her go and instead he'd gotten distant. Now he had the opportunity to give her what she deserved. He would stay out here until she was gone and she would get over him, just as they all did.

* * *

Molly heard the apartment door open and her heart leapt into her throat. "Sherlock?" she called out, hoping to hear a response but knowing he wouldn't come back so soon. He'd only been gone twenty minutes.

"Molly, darling, it's me!" a voice called from the other room.

"Jim?" Molly asked timidly, standing frozen next to the bed.

"That's right," he said in a sing-song voice, stepping through the doorway. Even though she was wearing her PJs from that morning, Molly pulled the sheets up to her chest as she stood there, as if she needed to shield herself from him. He moved closer towards her as she carefully backed away. "I've let this go on for far too long Molly. You know we belong together."

"You said I could figure things out Jim. I'm sorry I ended it with you but I thought we both deserved better."

"Oh Molly," he chuckled, "it was never about what you thought." She'd reached the wall, and he held up his hand to stroke her cheek. She recoiled as he said, "You were always supposed to come back to me Molly. And now, you're not going to have a choice." Molly stared at him, her voice caught in her throat, wishing she could do something badass to defend herself and coming up short. She should have taken self-defense classes. Or moved far away when she'd started to suspect how crazy Jim was. Not that she'd ever actually suspected how crazy Jim was. And now it was too late.

"What, what do you mean?" she said finally, dreading the answer.

"If you don't show up for our date tomorrow night, I'm going to have to do a little something to your boyfriend. It's our anniversary, you know," Jim smiled the smile Molly had once found charming, and she wanted to gag.

"Jim, please, this is crazy. I didn't pick him over you. I was falling out of love with you anyway. We'd drifted apart and you could have done much better than me, Jim, you still can," she pleaded. She had too much self-respect to go on a date with a total maniac, but she couldn't let Sherlock get hurt.

Jim turned to head out of the room. "Tomorrow night, 7:30, your apartment. I'll see you there!" he said in his creepily cheerful voice, kicking a pair of Sherlock's shoes on his way to emphasize his point.

"No," Molly heard herself say as Jim was leaving the room.

"What did you say?" Jim said, obviously angry now, turning back towards her.

She was suddenly very aware of the rain pounding against the window in the silence that followed. "I said no," Molly said, her voice growing stronger with each word even as she felt her strength crumbling inside. "I can't do this Jim, I won't go out with you."

Without even having time to regret her words, Jim had crossed the room and put his hands on her shoulders in a death grip. Terrified now, but trying not to show it, she bit back a yelp as his fingers dug into her skin.

"It was always supposed to be me Molly, why can't you see that?" Jim hissed, shaking her. "You don't have an opinion, you never have."

Being terrified apparently made her stupid, because Molly found enough of a voice to say, "You aren't in control of me, Jim. I have a right to do what I want, and I don't want to be with you."

Jim let out an angry yell and threw Molly away from him with more force than she would have thought him capable of. Her last thought was one of surprise before her head hit the bedpost with a sickening crack and she slumped to the floor, lifeless. Jim straightened his tie and brushed off the front of his shirt, stepping aside to avoid her body. "Pity," he whispered to himself as he walked out of the flat.


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: the characters belong to BBC, but the mysteries are the work of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I could never produce such genius._

* * *

Jim hadn't meant to get so carried away. He'd just meant to walk in and shake her up a little bit, in hopes of having her meet him so that Seb could take her away and he could put his plan into motion. Having her come to him willingly would just add to the sweetness of his triumph. She should have felt glad. She should have remembered how good it was to be with him instead of this stupid Sherlock and come running to him tomorrow night. Emotional was not his thing. He was not supposed to have let her get to him like this. He was the one who held all of the control. He was just supposed to let her love him unconditionally, nothing more.

* * *

Sherlock walked into his apartment a few hours after he'd left it.

"Molly?" he asked, wondering why the door was unlocked and praying that she hadn't left. Until he peeked his head into the bedroom and saw the blood on the floor and the envelope on his bed. His heart raced. He opened the envelope cautiously, terrified of what he'd find.

Inside were a note and a newspaper clipping. Sherlock first turned his attention to the note, which read, "She's safe, for now. But the clock is ticking! If you don't hurry, she'll end up like this poor girl. A pity their family won't have any closure."

Sherlock then read the newspaper article. It described the death of one Miss Julia Stoner. The article gave very few details apart from the fact that the circumstances of her death were still under investigation by the local police, although there appeared to be no reason to think the public was at risk.

Sherlock's mind raced. The article gave him no clues as to what he was supposed to do, although the note led him to believe he should solve the mystery for her family. He was torn. The envelope was unmarked and probably free of fingerprints. Even if he'd known who took her, it seemed planned. He doubted there would be any clues to follow.

But whether he decided to find Molly directly or solve the case of Miss Stoner, he needed to head to the police. Luckily for him, a friend of his brother's worked on the force and would hopefully take him somewhat seriously.

* * *

Sherlock breezed into the police station and asked the woman at the front desk if Inspector Lestrade was in today without so much as a greeting.

"Um, yes he is, but he might be busy, do you have an appointment?"

"Thanks," Sherlock said, ignoring her question and slipping by the desk to find his office. Luckily, he didn't have to look too hard. Lestrade was standing in the hall talking to a shorter blonde man that Sherlock thought looked familiar.

"Inspector Lestrade? Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft's younger brother? We've met a few times, I need your help with something," Sherlock broke into their conversation.

"Oh, um, yeah I remember you. I'm actually kind of busy but I was just saying good bye to John here and I guess I can spare you a moment," Lestrade replied, looking somewhat taken aback. Sherlock finally turned to look at the man with Lestrade and realized he recognized him.

John stuck his hand out to Sherlock, "I remember you! From boarding school, way back when. John Watson, if you didn't remember. I've just recently started going to med school here."

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock replied, then directed his attention to Lestrade, "I have some questions about the Stoner death, I was hoping you could help me."

"I was actually about to head out there now, but I'm not sure how many answers I can give you. I have to protect the family's privacy, you know. Not that I have all that much information yet myself."

"I guess I'll just go then?" John awkwardly interjected, turning to leave.

"No, you might be useful," Sherlock told him, taking John by surprise.

"Alright then," John said, taking it into stride.

"Can we go into your office, Inspector? It's a bit of a story."

* * *

Sherlock quickly told Lestrade how he and Molly had fought and he'd left her alone, only for a few hours, and come back to the blood on the floor and the envelope, which he procured for him.

Lestrade looked extraordinarily taken aback. "I can get a team over there right away to analyze the scene. Does she have any enemies?" They then proceeded through the usual brief interrogation. Sherlock barely even mentioned her ex-boyfriend, but he did mention the man he'd been seeing around campus ever since his first night with Molly.

"So maybe a stalker then. But why lead you on some sort of goose chase?"

"I'm not sure. I'm hoping that by getting more information about the case I might start to understand how it relates to her."

"Well, it's a bit outside of protocol but I could take you along with me to the Stoner house," Lestrade decided, knowing that they weren't doing anything of huge importance today. Just having another look around the bedroom where the poor girl had died.

As they walked out to Lestrade's squad car, he was struck by just how composed Sherlock was. He wasn't sure just how good of an idea it was to include him, but the poor guy was probably just trying to keep it together and stay on task. Lestrade would have to see. He trusted Mycroft immensely, but from what he'd heard, Sherlock was a bit of a wild card.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock, John, and Lestrade pulled up in front of your typical suburban-American mini-mansion. A young woman was waiting for them at the top of the drive. Lestrade introduced her as Helen Stoner, the twin sister of the deceased.

On the drive over, he had explained that Julia had appeared to have suffered from a seizure and died, although they had not yet been able to determine the cause. She had no history of any major medical illnesses or really any other reason to suddenly just drop dead. The coroner had noticed nothing suspicious about the body that might suggest foul play, although they were going to look over it again. The only other thing to draw suspicion was that their mother had left both the twins equally large amounts of money when she died, and now all of it would go to Helen. The stepfather, a bit of an oddball, had actually taught biology at the university for many years before retiring here with his dead wife's two twin daughters and his beloved pet baboon. Helen worked at a cupcake bakery downtown. Julia had taught preschool nearby and recently gotten engaged.

Sherlock looked Helen over, taking in as many details as he could. The bruises on her wrist she'd tried to cover with her long sleeves despite the unseasonably warm weather indicated she'd been abused, recently. Her eyes were red and there was still evidence of tears on her face, indicating that she'd recently been crying, probably as a result of that whole death thing. The strands of hair around her face were discolored by flour, so she must have been at work this morning. Her hair itself was tied up in a loose bun that was beginning to fall and her makeup was smudged as though it had been slept in and then touched up.

"I'm sure you've told all this to the police already, Helen, but would you mind telling me the events of the night of your sister's death?" Sherlock asked politely while Lestrade and John stood by.

"Of course," she sniffed, taking a deep breath to compose herself. "The night before it happened, Julia came into my room that night around 9 and asked me if I'd heard any whistling at night. I told her that I hadn't, and she said that over the past couple of nights she had been hearing whistling. I told her it could have been our stepfather in the room next to hers or a neighbor walking the dog."

"You all still live in this house together?"

"It was our house growing up, me and Julia and Mom. When she married Roylott, he moved in with us. Julia and I came back after college because we couldn't stand to sell it yet and Roylott couldn't live there alone anymore."

Sherlock noticed some fear in her expression, and thought that if her stepfather had been the one to deliver the bruises, she might not be living here with him by choice. "Just curious, thank you. Carry on."

"So I shrugged off the whistling, but now I'm wondering if I shouldn't have seen it as a sign of some sort of brain damage that might have lead to her seizure, or something. I don't know. But I didn't. We both went into our rooms and went to sleep, presumably. Well, I did, anyway. But later that night, I woke up to her screaming and I ran out into the hallway. I heard a whistling sound like she'd described, as well as the sound of a metal clang, but I was too focused on Julia to think much more of it. 'Helen! It was the speckled band! The- the band!' she screamed at me before collapsing onto the floor and sinking into her seizure. Roylott had come out into the hallway gripping his cellphone, and dialed 911 as soon as he saw her, but it was too late." Here Helen's breathing hitched, and she hid her face in her hands. After a moment, she continued.

"That's all really. I don't know what she could possibly have meant, I think she was already delusional when I ran into her in the hallway."

"Are there any other details that might be significant, Miss Stoner?" Sherlock asked politely.

"Not really. We lock our doors every night, and our windows are on the second story. I still don't know what the whistling could be. The metal clang was probably Roylott's safe. Sometimes he opens it at night; I think he keeps a picture of Mom and him in there. He must have been looking at it when he heard Julia."

"Thank you so much Helen. The boys and I will only need a few more moments up in her room," Inspector Lestrade said comfortingly.

* * *

Julia's room looked as though she had just been in between moving in and moving out. Some things were unpacked and some things were still in boxes. It definitely looked lived in, but not as though she had taken time to update it since her high school years. "Do you mind if I move some things?" Sherlock asked Helen.

"Go ahead," she replied. She leaned against the doorframe near Lestrade and John while Sherlock scurried around, peeking in boxes and checking her drawers. Finally he laid down and looked under her bed. He got a puzzled look on his face and rolled over to look at the ceiling. Then he shimmed under the bed. He reemerged. There is an air vent underneath the bed, and also one on the ceiling. That one," he pointed towards the bed, "leads directly to an air vent in he next room, and no where else. It's just a hole, really, disguised as an air vent.

"So someone in the other room could have passed something in here? Like what? Poisonous gas?" John spoke up.

Sherlock looked pointedly at Helen, wondering whose room was on the other side of the wall. "That's not my room, that's Roylott's room. I can go downstairs and get him," Helen seemed to pale at the thought, "He's out back with that damn monkey."

"Lestrade, maybe you should go with her," Sherlock suggested, partly because it was possible Roylott would try to run and partly because it might put Helen at ease.

Lestrade nodded and left the room with Helen.

"I don't know about gas, John, it would have to be a small quantity that was enough to kill her but degraded fast enough so that it didn't travel through the real vent system and get to Helen. It's a possibility, let's see what Roylott has to say about it."

* * *

A few minutes later Helen and Lestrade returned with a man who must be Dr. Roylott and met the John and Sherlock on the landing. He was wearing an extraordinarily angry look and immediately addressed Lestrade.

"I don't understand why you are here. My poor stepdaughter died of natural causes and you're insulting our family by poking your damn noses around our home. And now you've brought two others into it? Are they even police? Who the hell are you?" The last sentence was directed at Sherlock.

"Dr. Roylott, please. We are just gathering a few more details to make sure nothing in the house killed her, otherwise you and your daughter could be at risk," Lestrade tried to reason with him, "Could you please just take us into your room?"

"Fine," he huffed, and led them in. The room was sparsely furnished, not much more than a bed and a bedside table and a few paintings on the walls. Sherlock noted the presence of the air vent opposite the one in Julia's room.

"May I look around?" Sherlock asked.

Roylott remained silent, so Helen answered for him, "Go ahead."

Sherlock peeked in the drawers in the bedside table before shifting through his closet. "Ah-ha!" He pulled out a long metal rod with a hook on the end. Roylott looked terrified.

He turned to the painting nearest the closet and pulled it off the wall, revealing a safe. "Do you want to show them what's inside, Dr. Roylott? If I open the safe myself, someone else might die."

Roylott was frozen in place, looking quickly between Sherlock and Lestrade.

"I don't understand, Sherlock, what's going on? He's keeping a snake in that safe?"

"I would be willing to bet quite a bit of money on it, yes. I also think if you closely examined Miss Stoner for a snakebite, you would not be disappointed. Dr. Roylott must have trained the snake, and the whistling she heard must have been him calling it back. The clang Helen heard would have been Dr. Roylott shutting the snake safely away before coming out to the hallway. The only reason I can think of its still being here is that he needs to use it to kill Helen, so that he can gain all of their inheritance money for himself. The only question left is what type of snake. I assume something Dr. Roylott ran into in his years studying abroad, since none of the venomous snake native to this region cause Miss Stoner's symptoms."

"I'll call in an animal control team now. You're not going anywhere, Dr. Roylott," Lestrade started dialing on his phone. Dr. Roylott looked defeated. He didn't even try to run, or defend himself.

John went to put his arm around Helen, who looked as though she'd just watched her sister get murdered all over again. She sank into John's side, sobbing. Muffled phrases such as "Can't believe," and "My own stepfather," and "kill me too" could be heard at intervals.

Sherlock's phone dinged moments later. "Great job Detective! Your Molly will live another day. Go home and get a good night's sleep, tomorrow your mystery will be a little bit trickier. Xo"

* * *

_A/N: This mystery was based on "The Adventure of the Speckled Band". As I'm sure you've all noticed, I've almost directly used the idea of Sherlock solving mysteries before the clock runs out and someone dies. Except in this case its always Molly who might die. Would Jim actually kill her? I'm not sure…_

_I hope you liked my (only slightly) adapted version of this particular original Sherlock adventure. I hope it comes across as a believable mystery, since __this is my first attempt at any real case solving and even thought its all pretty much taken from Conan Doyle, tell me what you guys think!_

_*Update: for the few of you who have read this chapter already, I slipped up and made it sound like they were in the UK by talking about snakes native to the British Isles. I have *hopefully* fixed this above. I am sticking by my decision to have this story based in the US, but now that I'm bringing in the mysteries its hard to keep myself in that mindset for some reason..._


	10. Chapter 10

_Hey guys! First of all, I am so sorry it has taken me this long to upload a new chapter. Finals week is upon me, so the past few weeks have been crazy busy. But here it is! A shorter chapter but hopefully worth the wait. I'm hoping to upload another chapter soon to make up for my slight lag. Thanks everyone who has stuck with me for ten chapters! _

_*Disclaimers still apply._

* * *

The first thing Molly was aware of was the dull pain in her head. The next thing she was aware of was that she was still in her pajamas, and in a very comfortable bed. She sat up quickly, hoping everything had been a bad dream and she was back in Sherlock's bed. Her head throbbed at her sudden movement, but she tried to ignore it. Her surroundings were completely new to her. It looked like she was in a very fancy, sparsely decorated hotel room with an admittedly great view of the city. Far too fancy a place to take a kidnapping victim. Her head spun. She wasn't even sure what had happened. She remembered yelling and then a pain in her head and then nothing.

She jumped at the sound of the door opening, bracing herself for whoever might walk through.

"Jim?" she asked incredulously, although at the same time some of her memories became a little clearer. She'd been yelling at Jim. He'd wanted her to come back. Why had she been with Jim? Had she been that mad at Sherlock?

"Molly, darling, how is your head? Do you need anything? Moran will be right up with your breakfast. You've been out all night, I was worried."

"What happened to me? Where are we?"

"Let's call it my vacation home. Isn't it lovely?" Jim spread his hands out, gesturing at the place, "As for you, you called me. You said something about a fight and I came straight over to see you."

"No, no I didn't call you," Molly said, remembering more. "I- I fought with Sherlock and then you were just there. How did you know I was there? Where's Sherlock? I need to talk to him."

"He knows where you are, Molly dear. We left a note on his counter saying that you had fallen and hit your head and were being taken care of at this address," Jim lied easily.

"How long has it been?"

"We got here yesterday evening and now its 10 o'clock in the morning. You apparently haven't been missed."

"I don't believe you," Molly paused, remembering more, "you wanted me to come back with you, and I said no! This isn't your apartment Jim, why the hell am I here?" Her head was throbbing and she laid back against the pillows, trying not to let her rage subside. But she felt so tired. Maybe if she went to sleep this situation would sort itself out by the time she woke up. Yeah, that sounded like a great idea…

Jim grinned as Molly slipped back into her deep sleep. In a few more hours, Seb would have to come up and give her another dose to keep her sedated. In the meantime, Jim had to go check on Sherlock. He'd solved the first case predictably well, since it really hadn't been that much of a mystery and the police were just too lazy to pursue other avenues.

* * *

It was 10:00 the morning after Sherlock had solved the Stoner case, and still no notes or word from the mysterious kidnappers. The police had not found anything at Sherlock's place, which did not come as a surprise.

What scared Sherlock the most was how much fun he had had solving the mystery yesterday. His brain was usually racing, always wanting answers to any mundane problem he could think of. At least this way, someone was giving him a problem to solve.

Sherlock thought about how he might be able to go into police work, and then laughed at the thought. He knew there'd be no place for him there.

His phone dinged, cutting off his train of thought.

"Ask that policeman of yours if Mr. St. Simon knows where your Molly might be."

Sherlock was puzzled. He didn't know any Mr. St. Simon. He dialed Lestrade, who was shocked upon hearing the name.

"How in the hell does he know about St. Simon? Damn it! We've only just found out and been told to keep it hushed up."

"What's happened?"

"An incident involving a state senator. Come down to the station and I'll tell you about it."

Sherlock agreed, telling Lestrade to call John before hanging up. He had a feeling he'd be needed.

* * *

Sherlock and John arrived almost at the same time and Lestrade filled them in on events. The afternoon before, Robert St. Simon, a man just past 40, had been married to a Miss Margaret Doran, the daughter of an influential businessman from California, in a very intimate ceremony. At the equally intimate reception, the new Mrs. St. Simon had complained of a headache and excused herself to their hotel room upstairs. After she had not been heard of for some time, the groom left to check on her only to discover the room empty. Upon questioning employees, it was discovered that Margaret had been seen leaving the hotel looked distressed with a coat and hat pulled over her wedding dress and had gone who knows where. The police had then been contacted, and a Claire Miller had been arrested.

"What for?" Sherlock asked.

"She caused quite the disturbance in the hotel lobby as the wedding party was coming in after the wedding. Luckily, we don't think the bride saw her beforehand, but she's the only suspect we have at the moment. She seems unstable, and the two were seen walking together after Mrs. St. Simon left the hotel." Sherlock pursed his lips thoughtfully but said nothing.

"Mr. St. Simon should actually be here any minute, if you would like to meet with him."

Sherlock nodded his assent as an older but obviously well kept man knocked lightly on the open door. "Inspector Lestrade? Are you the man who is going to help me find my wife?"


End file.
